Of Khuzdul and Loyalty
by Bronwyn O'Reilly
Summary: Bifur may be the most taciturn Dwarf in the company, but that doesn't mean he isn't friendly. Sequel to 'Of Iglishmêk and Carpentry'.


**Of Khuzdul and Loyalty**

_for BlueInked_

"So, how exactly does one have an axe embedded in their head?"

"Long story. Let's just say that the Hobgoblin who caused it had the same done to them, except harder."

"Harder?"

"Brains everywhere. Imagine spilling a jug of ale, only the ale's blood. All over the ground, too, with - "

"Okay! Okay, I understand, horrible injury. Right. So why can't he speak normally?"

"Ah, that's a bit of a problem for us, too. I think it's something to do with the axe being in his brain. Brain's very important for thinking, so maybe it hit something that made him think in Westron."

"That's terrible."

"Look alive, lad, it's not that bad. It's hard to imagine having that sort of thing, I know, but Bifur's fine. Mighty handy with that spear of his, too."

"So what does he speak? Dwarvish?"

"No, there's no such language as Dwarvish. We call it Khuzdul. It's an old, old language, not changed since Aulë created it. Can't teach you any though, sorry. It's meant to be secret."

"It's hardly secret if Bifur uses it all the time, though, is it?"

"Not if no one else can understand it."

Riding ponies was boring. That was really the only way to put it. So conversations between Dwarves, or Dwarves, Hobbit and Wizard, were fairly common and were almost always just mindless chatter to fill the silence and ease the boredom. One thing Bilbo had learnt from the Dwarves was that each had their own way of speaking, and Bifur's was undoubtedly the strangest. He had approached Bofur about this, seeing as he was the closest to his cousin, and could be relied on to give him some answers.

Bofur scratched his temple, pushing is funny hat out of his sightline. "Y'see, Khuzdul isn't like Westron, or any of them Elven languages. It's special, you don't learn it from a young age. It takes study and a long time to master the language, which a lot of Dwarves don't have. We're busy. The only reason I learnt it was to be able to speak with Bifur after the axe stopped him from speaking to me."

Bilbo frowned. "So how has it survived so long?"

Bofur shrugged. "I'm thinking it's something to do with the fact that it's so ancient and…well, revered, that it's become something of a holy language. As in, it's the official language between Dwarves, whether they be from the Iron Hills or the Blue Mountains, we all speak the same Khuzdul."

"Oh, okay. I know our Westron, that is, Hobbits' Westron, is different from Gondor's and Rohan's, and all three are different from what they were years and years ago."

"Aye, absolutely. Every where's got a different way of speaking, even if it's just the accent. See, even us Dwarves have different Westron to you, and I'd bet that Dáin's folk speak different to us, as well." Bofur let out a merry laugh. "It'd be a right sight, all of us 'round a table, all talking different ways."

Suddenly, Bifur himself rode up beside Bofur and whispered a few words in his ear. Bilbo watched the two, equal parts confusion and resigned acceptance on his face. Bifur was so taciturn even without the speech impediment that it was difficult to get anything out of him at all, whether it was through body language or Iglishmêk, which he had just had a rather interesting experience with not a week past.

Bofur nodded along seriously as his cousin talked, his expression becoming gradually more worried than amused as Bifur muttered. Both of them kept glancing back towards the rear of the company, where Bombur and Ori were exchanging a rather awkward conversation. However, as Bilbo tracked where they were looking, neither were peering at the Dwarves but at the trail behind them.

"What's wrong? Is there someone following us?" he asked, leaning in very slightly so as to hear better but not intrude. Hobbits are the masters of knowing precisely where the boundaries of intruding and inquiring are, and Bilbo was an exceptionally polite Hobbit.

"Don't worry, Bifur's just being paranoid, isn't that right?" Bofur jabbed an elbow into the surly Dwarf's side, causing him to overbalance slightly and right himself using Bifur's head as a stabiliser.

Bifur said something rather vehemently in Khuzdul, which caused Bofur to lean back and wave a hand in front of his face, as if cooling himself down. "Well, now, that's not very polite, is it? May want to watch your language, there, cousin. Can't let old Balin hear you say that."

Bilbo decided that for the moment, he would consider ignorance, bliss.

Unfortunately, while Hobbits are polite, they are not particularly careless, and Bifur's paranoia only served to amplify Bilbo's own. He began to see eyes in every bush, Goblins in every shadow, and he swore that he could see an evil sorcerer hiding behind a tree at one point.

He almost jumped out of his skin when a firm hand landed on his shoulder during their quick lunch stop, and a head popped out from behind the trunk of the tree he was leaning on to study him seriously.

"So, I hear you want to learn some Khuzdul," said Nori, his hand tightening ever so slightly. "Is that true?"

Word spreads quickly among the company.

"No, no, of course not!" Bilbo hastily defended, waving his arms in front of himself rather comically. "That is, I would like to, but I understand it's a secret language, so there really isn't much of a chance of me learning it, is there?"

As much as he liked most of the Dwarves, he was slightly wary around Nori. He had the reputation of being a little sticky-fingered, and Bilbo didn't appreciate people 'borrowing' his things. Other than the streak of kleptomania, though, Nori was a nice enough Dwarf, but Bilbo did find it hard to look past the thievery.

Nori gave him a crafty smile. "It's only secret to those who consider it such. As one burglar to another, I think you'll know what I mean."

"No. No, I can't say I do. Now, um, I have to go and, um, look after my pony. I appreciate the offer, but…yes." He stood up and hurried over to where they'd left the ponies, hiding behind Ginger to try and escape prying eyes.

Ginger was his pony, or at least the pony he was borrowing from the rest of the company. She was a nice old thing, with a tendency to suddenly stop and refuse to move any further, which Bofur had assured him had always been the case and wasn't just his bad riding skills.

He spent a moment pretending to brush her down, running his hands over her mane and looking for debris. Her shaggy coat seemed to attract all sorts of rubbish, from twigs to leaves, and he swore he found a small bird in there once.

He felt a presence behind him before two hands clapped his shoulders. "I heard about your little scuffle with Nori," said the heavily accented voice of Bofur from behind him, and he turned to see the mattock-wielding Dwarf grinning at him proudly. "Very nicely handled, Master Burglar."

Bilbo brushed it off. "There are some boundaries that really oughtn't to be crossed," he said by way of explanation.

Bofur nodded. "Aye, that's true. But if you want to speak with Bifur – that's what you want to learn it for? – he signs well enough."

"Does he?"

"That he does. Thought your little adventure with the twins was quite amusing."

"The twins? Oh, you mean Fíli and Kíli. They aren't twins, are they?"

Bofur laughed and shook his head. "They may as well be, though. Not seen one without the other in my whole life. Anyway, Bifur wouldn't mind chatting to you if your signing's good enough. He doesn't talk much either way, but it's better than nothing."

They meandered back to the camp, Bilbo keeping a careful eye out for Nori. Bofur made a few gestures to Bifur, who nodded and gave what might be a smile. In good light.

He was pushed down to the floor, sitting between the two cousins, and pulled his legs in crossways. Trying to remember the small amount of Iglishmêk he'd been taught, he raised his hands and hesitantly signed a standard greeting.

Bifur replied, but his gestures were far too fast and Bilbo couldn't follow them. After a swat around the shoulder, Bifur repeated them at half the speed, with Bilbo having Bofur translate whatever he didn't understand. Sometimes Bifur would let out a low grunt, which Bilbo took as a laugh, and said a few words of Khuzdul.

They 'talked' for a long while, straight through packing up and setting off. So absorbed in the conversation was Bilbo that he completely missed the warning signs being shot around the company.

Dwalin rode up beside Bofur and knocked his shoulder. Bilbo turned to look, Bifur doing the same, and Dwalin made a few directory gestures with his hands. The message was clear – there's something behind us.

Bifur growled something low in his throat, and Bofur nodded. "Don't speak," murmured the brunette. He then rode off with Dwalin up to the front, where Thorin and Gandalf were peering around the treeline. Bilbo was left with a paranoid Dwarf and a stubborn pony, neither of which did anything to help him.

Unsure of exactly how to sign his question, Bilbo waved his hand to get Bifur's attention and pointed to the back of the company, raising his eyebrows. Bifur shrugged, scowling and ruffling his own pony's mane comfortingly.

Suddenly there was a yell, a crash, and an arrow came slicing through the air between Bilbo and Dori, who was riding a few metres away on his other side. Bilbo gave an awkward yelp, head following the arrow's course to see a wolf lying on the ground. It was twitching, an axe embedded in its side and an arrow through its eye.

"Don't touch it!" came a yell, and Bilbo saw Glóin yank his hand away. Thorin rode up and dismounted, keeping a fair distance away from the lanky wolf.

"It's feral," he said, peering down at the wolf and gesturing to the slightly foaming mouth. "Don't touch it."

Bilbo exchanged glances with Bifur, who grunted out a single word in Khuzdul. He didn't understand it, but at Thorin's nod he guessed it must have been the name of the disease that the wolf must have contracted.

"What do we do with it?" Fíli asked from the front. "If the scavengers try and eat it they'll catch it too, won't they?"

Thorin nodded again, and frowned down at the corpse. "Bury it in dirt, but don't touch it. If anyone does, they'll catch the disease."

Fíli and Kíli obligingly grabbed their shovels from their packs and set to work, with Glóin and Balin overseeing their progress. Bilbo turned back to face the front, desperately trying to avoid the urge to dismount. If he hopped off Ginger, he would never get on again.

Bifur hopped off his pony and moved over to the wolf, so Bilbo turned around in his seat again to watch his progress. He was an odd Dwarf, but Bilbo quite liked him. He knew when to leave and let alone, a skill which Bilbo could appreciate very much, and although he was taciturn he was honest in his words.

Thorin rode up next to him, and Bilbo froze up. "I've heard tell that you were offered knowledge of Khuzdul by Nori," he said sternly, and Bilbo gulped.

"Well, yes, I was, but I didn't take it. I mean, not that I don't trust Nori – which I do, really, I'd trust him with my life – I just, you know, I didn't think it right to - "

Thorin held up a hand and Bilbo fell silent. "You did the right thing," the Dwarf said, giving him a short nod. "Khuzdul is a secret language, not taught to non-Dwarves. Nori should have known this, and I will talk with him shortly."

He rode off, and left Bilbo with the odd feeling that something important had happened, but for the life of him he couldn't imagine what.

"Ah, yes, the famous Thorin Oakenshield praise," Bofur said from behind him, pipe firmly stuck in his mouth and still smoking. "He's just complimented you, even if it doesn't sound like it. Like Bifur, I guess. He appreciates loyalty, Thorin does, and not just to him."

Bifur had come back, and nodded gruffly at his cousin's appraisal. He said something, and although Bilbo couldn't understand it and wouldn't have known even if he tried, he gathered it was something along the lines of what Thorin had said.

Bofur chuckled and translated, "He says that you're a good person, Bilbo, and I'd take that as the highest praise."

Bilbo shrugged awkwardly and looked back to where the wolf lay, half covered with dirt already. He didn't see himself as a particularly useful addition, but if even Bifur thought so, maybe he wasn't half wrong.

A good half hour passed before Glóin and Balin agreed that the wolf was well buried, and then they were on their way once again. Thorin warned the company that if one animal was infected others would be too, which didn't do much to help Bifur and Bilbo's shared paranoia. With the salt-and-pepper Dwarf having been right once, if he was still tense, there was going to be something else following them too.

Bifur tapped him on the shoulder at one point, and said something in Khuzdul. Bilbo shook his head, indicating his lack of understanding, and Bifur sighed, grabbing Bombur by the sleeve and tugging him so he was riding next to them. It was quite the feat, given the weight of both the Dwarf and pony, and only served to emphasise Bifur's strength.

Bifur said something to Bombur in Khuzdul again, grunted, and nodded his head to Bilbo. Bombur smiled widely and nodded, his face even more friendly than usual.

"Bifur's got a phrase he wants to teach you," said the round Dwarf. "Very common phrase for Dwarves, I'll have you know, and one of the few pieces of Khuzdul that non-Dwarves hear."

"What is it?" Bilbo asked hesitantly.

"It's a war cry."

That didn't surprise Bilbo at all, not after spending over a week in the company of the Dwarves. They did everything fiercely, loudly, with such intense emotion that stunned the poor Hobbit, who was used to quiet and politeness and a complete lack of anything so energetic. To know that the one phrase they shared with outsiders was one that could be screamed across a battlefield didn't surprise him in the least.

"Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!" said Bifur gruffly, shaking his fist in the air.

"Axes of the Dwarves! The Dwarves are upon you!" Bombur translated, nodding and sending his stomach jiggling. "Very well known; very feared phrase. Remember it, and when you wish to scare a Goblin, yell it as loud as you can."

"I don't think…"

Bifur clapped him on the back, then shouted something out to Bofur who laughed his head off.

"What was that?"

Bombur chuckled and smiled down at him. "Bifur just made a comment to Bofur that you would be more…well, cute than intimidating."

Bilbo sighed and twitched his eyebrow. "Well, I can't exactly argue about that, can I?"

"He means well."

"Yes, I'm sure he does." Bilbo smiled up at Bombur, trying to ease the friendly Dwarf's slight consternation. "Don't worry, I'm not offended. It's just…you're Dwarves. You're automatically intimidating to anyone who would cross you. Hobbits don't have that...that dangerous edge that you do. It's just how it is."

"I think you may surprise yourself," he replied, before riding up to talk to Óin.

Bilbo watched him go before being slapped once again on the back, this time by Bifur. The grizzled Dwarf smiled slightly at him, a simple twitch of the lips, and called out the war cry. Bilbo groaned and attempted to do so, which sent Bofur into more peals of laughter and Bifur into a coughing fit, which may or may not have been him laughing.

No other infected animals crossed their paths that day, but Kíli did manage to shoot a few rabbits for their supper. Bombur promptly set on them, cooking up one of the nicest rabbit stews Bilbo had ever tasted. What surprised him more was that Bifur and Kíli both chipped in, Bifur tasting it occasionally and sending what he presumed to be advice Bombur's way. Kíli was sitting in front of the pot, stirring and dropping in herbs sporadically.

"Does cooking run in the family, then?" Bilbo asked Bofur, pointing at Bifur and Bombur.

"Well, all Dwarves love their food," acknowledged Bofur. "Bombur more than others. And Bifur does like a good stew, just don't make him dry the dishes."

Bilbo nodded thoughtfully, before standing up and heading to where he left his pack. Stupidly, he'd left it with the ponies, so he went to pay Ori – who was watching them – a visit.

"Hallo," Ori said with a smile, "I saw you left your bags here, sir, so I took them off for you. They're just over there."

Bilbo nodded and smiled back. "Thank you, Master Ori. And call me Bilbo, there's no need for 'sir'. I'm no lord, just a Hobbit."

"Then please, just call me Ori. I'm no master craftsman, just a Dwarf."

Bilbo rescued his bags and searched through them, pulling out a small packet of spices which he'd brought from Bag End. He really hadn't had any idea of what to pack when he'd made his decision, and these had been one thing that he'd just randomly thrown in – just in case.

He was just about to meander back to the campsite when there was a low growl from the shadows. He froze, eyes searching the gloom, and only just managed to dart out of the way when a grey blur shot out and leapt at him.

He yelled loudly, and heard Ori call back, and stared into the eyes of the most frightening beast he'd ever met. Easily twice his size, it was long and lanky, with a rather ragged coat and drooling as it watched him. He scrambled back, reaching around for a stone to throw.

"Baru Khazâd! Khazâd I menu!" he said loudly. It didn't come out as defiant as he wished, but it was better than nothing.

The wolf let out a long growl and leapt again, but before it reached Bilbo a spear thudded into its side, knocking it off course and onto the ground.

"Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!" came a ferocious roar, and Bifur sped out of the trees, reaching the twitching wolf in a matter of seconds and driving his spear into it again.

More Dwarves poured from the trees, but the action was over and now the attention was on Bilbo, who waved his hands in front of his face to ward them off.

"I'm fine! I'm perfectly fine! Look, didn't even touch me! Just a bit shaken up, is all," he said, his voice barely even shaking.

Bifur kneeled on front of him and looked him over critically, before nodding once and extending a hand. He glared at him for a little bit, enough to make it clear that he wasn't pleased with the turn of events, but then he clapped him on the shoulder – a move Bilbo was coming to associate with him – and pulled him up.

"I got these," Bilbo said after a few seconds of awkward silence, holding up the bag of spices. "Thought they might taste good in the stew."

Bifur took them, opening the bag and peering in curiously before nodding and pushing Bilbo through the crowd of Dwarves and back to the camp.

Bofur caught up with them quick enough, being marginally lighter on his feet than several of the older Dwarves. "What happened?"

Bifur grunted out a response, then actually laughed and mimicked Bilbo's attempt at the Dwarvish war-cry. It was a comical sight, with much exaggeration and idle chatter.

Later that night, after eating more than his fair share of a very delicious rabbit stew, Bilbo was tapped on the shoulder by Bofur. "Bifur likes you," he said, "he wouldn't tease you otherwise."

"I know," said Bilbo, surety lining his words.

"Good." Bofur moved back to his own bedroll, but just before Bilbo's vision of Bifur was blocked by the other Dwarf, he saw him flash him a grin, teeth standing out in the dark.

And so he smiled back.

**A/N: Look, I did another one! Hope you enjoyed it, and 'Pebbles' should be updated in a few days!**

**- Bronwyn**


End file.
